So You Want To Write Online?

Recognize that 99.9% of the people who read what you write, don’t really know you. So whatever they have to say about who you are and who you are not, is baseless.
Recognize that 99.9% of the people who read what you write, don’t really know you. So whatever they have to say about who you are and who you are not, is baseless.
There are people whose love pours out in complicated, profound words. They could fill books on the way their partner looks when they just wake up, or how much they love spending time with their best friend.
You can’t make money without selling something real. You can’t make something real without first imagination manifesting itself in your head. You can’t have imagination without surrendering yourself to an idea that you want to create something of value to other human beings.
From Julio Cortázar to Virginia Woolf to Luna Miguel and Andy Warhol, these are authors and books I love.
I broke up with people I loved. I fell in love again. I moved. I was unemployed. I was homeless. I cut my hair short.
I know 90s email chain letters and sex ed taught us otherwise, but chlamydia doesn’t always look like a molded piece of broccoli vomiting up blood clots.
Last night, a YouTube video of a young man named Samuel H. went Facebook and Twitter viral. In it, Samuel makes a string of negative, racial remarks against Asians.
For sale: like-new engagement ring, barely worn, came right off her finger. Finger also for sale for the right offer.
We were always at each other’s throats, able to magically tear each other apart and push each other’s buttons epically.
Because I’m afraid you’ll ask me for the sweater back which I have strategically stolen. But you can’t be mad at me for this; it fits perfectly and keeps me extremely warm on the semi-frequent nights where my heater doesn’t work.
When someone wants to tear apart my writing — because I had the gall to suggest that society is racist or sexist — they often bring up my presumed gender to do so. I’m interpellated as “that girl,” “a chick on the internet.”
He sent it as a subtle reminder — or a preparedness warning, really. She brings it out, using one hand to cup the top of the phone so the bartender doesn’t see it, I guess. I’m pretty sure this exact situation has happened in front of him like 10,000 times already.
New rule: the second I walk into a dude’s room and he has a mattress on the floor (box springs are acceptable) I’m turning around and walking straight back out.
It’s not as though my entire friendship with him was a ruse to get him in bed, I genuinely fell for him over the course of getting to know him, and upon being rejected, remaining in such close proximity was beyond my ability to undertake.
I won’t cuddle you when you come and sit on the edge of the bed, even though all I really want to do is crawl inside you and wear your skin as a coat and your guts as a scarf, because love is gross and creepy like that.
Gentlemen, feel free to ignore this one unless of course you want to take a sneak peek into “girl world,” and while I can promise that you may find some of it interesting, I cannot promise that you won’t leave scarred.